


Pining

by VenusOliver



Category: South Park
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Universe, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, I'm Not Ashamed, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-23 23:04:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21089282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenusOliver/pseuds/VenusOliver
Summary: Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski are about as close as lifelong friends can be. It's odd, though— these feelings they hold for each other are so different in comparison to the feelings they hold for any of their other friends.. what the hell does it all mean?





	Pining

**Author's Note:**

> If they're really ooc, I'm sorry- but I also don't care.  
Oh— and partial credit to my South Park partner in crime— you're apart of this too :))
> 
> Btw Stan has Heterochromia! So when his eyes are mentioned, hopefully that information will make things make a little more sense.

He felt like he'd never get out of this ever growing state of self-loathing and one-sided pain.

This getaway trip was _suppose_ to make things easier on Kyle— make him feel like he was wrapped up in his nostalgic feelings just because he had been stuck in South Park his entire life.

But no.

Here he is, face pressed to Stan Marsh's chest, in a shitty motel that probably couldn't pass any sort of health inspection— feeling like every touch brought out a sense of longing that hadn't existed before.

But before Kyle could move onto any self-deprecating thoughts, fingertips kneading through his bustling bush of hair knocked him consciously aware again.

Painfully, achingly, consciously aware.

"Sorry—" Stan muttered nervously, heat rising to his face. Normally he could restrain himself, jab his nails into his palm or rapidly scratch at his thighs— but this time it was much, much harder.

He had always adored Kyle's hair— how it seemed to accentuate the perfections and imperfections on Kyle's face— and how each strand looked like a carefully crafted thread, coming together to form a gorgeous tapestry on the boy's head. Who wouldn't want to touch it?

"Don't be," Kyle stammered— sitting up. In doing so, causing Stan to internally scream at himself. The sight of Kyle's thick locks spilled out across his chest had been an absolute dream— and he let such a sight slip away, all because of his urges. Damn.

It didn't take long for tension to fill the air, not that it was an uncommon occurance. The redhead quickly felt unnerved by the jagged silence, leaning up against the backboard of the bed that they were currently on.

"You always get weird when you touch my hair, Stan." He spoke matter-of-factly, a tinge of hurt in his tone. He wanted Stan to play with his hair, to mutter gentle nothings into his locks and weave flowers into the tapestry that always seemed to catch Stan's eyes.

His _stunning, ravishing, pulchritudinous_ eyes.

"And you get weird everytime you look at my stupid-looking eyes, Kyle." He snapped back in a bitter tone, his gaze averted. He regretted it immediately. 

Kyle bit his lip in frustration, not knowing the proper way to react right now. He was hurt, that's for damn sure— simultaneously, however, he couldn't seem to truly _be_ hurt. More than anything, he was angry that Stan had— _yet again_— insulted his eyes. The eyes that Kyle loved so goddamn much.

In an instant, Kyle had swung his body to rest atop Stan's own— knees digging into the bed on the outer sides of the other boy's hips.

"I don't want to hear that bullshit, Stan." He retorted, placing his hands firmly on the sides of Stan's face. _"Fuck,"_ he thought, _"his skin is so soft—"_

But before he could continue melting at the mere _feeling_ of Stan's skin, he remembered that, _oh yeah, there was business that needed tending too._

"Your eyes are _beautiful_, so don't even start up with any _insecure crap!_" Kyle leaned in, his heart pounding, and placed soft kisses just beneath each one Stan's eyebrows. Immediately, his tone transitioned from firm to paradoxically soft. "I wish you loved them more, because I love them— I love them a lot.." _Fuck_, that sweetheart-tone that Kyle always seemed to use at one point or another with Stan made him feel like the most special man alive— like.. _like Kyle might just actually have feelings for Stan_, in the same way Stan does for Kyle.

Those sort of thoughts are absolutely absurd, but a man can dream.

"_I love you.._" Stan whispered hastily as he leaned in close, tilting his head upwards and pressing a gentle kiss to Kyle's lips. _Shit_.

Kyle could feel blood rushing through his pulsing veins— his heart rattling in his ribcage. Any and every nerve ending in his body was enflamed by the sensation of Stan's lips on his own, causing Kyle to melt into Stan entirely.

Slowly, they moved— tilting their heads until their mouths molded together in a heavy hellfire of repressed feelings. 

The fact that Stan had said "_I love you_" changed almost-to-nothing, after all— their fear of ruining a lifelong bond outweighed words. No matter how painful that reality was for the both of them, and no matter how obvious it became that their love wasn't one sided.

Kyle's hands wandered down, fingertips trailing from Stan's face down his to his chest— where they pressed into his toned expanse of skin. In unison, Kyle's lower half relaxed— finding place on Stan's lap. 

The two boys stayed like this for a long, long time— hands timidly exploring skin while mouths remained nervously-connected. It released some of the tension, some of the buildup of unrequited love, but it wasn't the first time they had done this. And it was expected to not be the last. 

Eventually, after the twinge of excitement had faded, fear came into play again— causing them both to pull away.

It was silent. 

Stan and Kyle made eye contact for just a moment, their faces red from blushing. With no words spoken, Kyle moved into the position he had been in before this entire fiasco begun— atop Stan, face on his chest, and hair pouring out onto his upper-torso and collarbone. 

Stan placed his hand on Kyle's head, playing hesitantly with his hair. "I don't know what this is, Kyle." "I know," Kyle murmured, closing his eyes. "Me either."


End file.
